


The Story of the Rats, and the Treasures the Piper Stole

by bygoshbygolly



Category: Der Rattenfänger von Hameln | The Pied Piper of Hamelin (Fairy Tale)
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-22 22:31:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16606634
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bygoshbygolly/pseuds/bygoshbygolly
Summary: The story of the Pied Piper, and what came after.





	The Story of the Rats, and the Treasures the Piper Stole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nimblermortal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nimblermortal/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! I hope you enjoy this.

It all started the day little Anna went to fetch water from the well and pulled up a sodden, yellow-toothed rat.

The rats had long been a problem in Hamlin, and even the now-well-fed cats could not possibly dream of catching them all. The townspeople had tried everything they could to rid themselves of the vermin, to no avail. 

And now it seemed the rats had made their way into the well. The town knew that if their water was fouled, the town would sicken-- they had seen it elsewhere. And so they met to discuss what was to be done.

The men spoke on how to best rid the town of the rats (and the women spoke amongst themselves, trading their own ideas and stories), going 'round and 'round in circles as ideas were proposed and discarded and proposed once more.

It wasn't until there was a polite knocking at the door to the hall that the men realized they could hear music, and had been hearing it for some time. It was light and airy, and each man found himself remembering his first boyhood friend.

The door opened, and in stepped a man in bright patchwork garb; as he entered, he removed the pipe he was holding from his lips, and the music stopped.

“Good morning, fine sirs,” said the stranger. “I hear you are having trouble with rats.” He bowed. “I believe I can be of some assistance.”

“And who are you?” asked the mayor, rising from his seat.

The stranger smiled, thin and wide.

“Someone who can rid you of these vermin in a single night.”

There was a murmur as the men expressed their disbelief. The stranger smiled wider.

“Ah, but I see you don't believe me. Allow me to demonstrate.” So saying, he raised the pipe to his lips and began a dark, winding melody.

There was a scrabble of little feet, and a dozen rats emerged from dark corners to sit, fat and foul, at the feet of the piper.

With a flourish, the melody changed, from haunting to martial. The stranger marched around the room, and the rats followed him single file, feet moving together in time. The townsfolk watched in fascinated distaste, each mouthing prayers they somehow could not bring themselves to voice.

When he had completed a circuit, the piper stopped playing, sweeping into a low bow. The rats, freed from the spell, fled into the shadows.

“Gentlemen, are you satisfied?” The piper spread his hands.

The men exchanged glances, faces working in the silent language of those who have known each other all their lives. After a moment, the mayor stood.

“We are,” he said. “And as you may have guessed, our need is great. However, we must ask what you want in return.”

“Ah,” the stranger sighed, body and face drooping in regret. “Sadly, this service, though gladly offered, does not come cheap. I am but a traveler, and rely on the generosity of those such as yourselves who have need of me.”

The men nodded. His words did not come as a surprise.

“Your price, then?” The mayor crossed his arms.

“The most valuable item from each household,” replied the piper. “I would not dream of forcing from the people more than they have, but for such a terrible plague of vermin, that is my price.”

There was another exchange of glances. The price was both greater and smaller than they had feared. No one would be called upon to pay more than they could, and yet those with more to spare balked at the piper’s price. They conferred silently, frowns and sighs and significant movements of mouths and eyebrows. Finally, they reached a decision.

“Very well,” said the mayor. “Although I must ask again, what is your name, sir?”

“I am the Piper,” came the reply. “That is all I will say.”

The mayor sighed, but while he would not ordinarily conduct business with a man who did not give his name, this was not an ordinary time.

“Very well, then.” The two shook hands; the deal was struck.

“Tomorrow night I shall return and rid you of your rats,” said the Piper. “And the following day, when you are satisfied I have done my duty, I will claim my price.”

 

When the men told their wives about the encounter (the women of the town having had their meeting disrupted some time prior by the necessity of their daily tasks), they found they could not remember what the man had looked like, beyond the brightness of his patchwork clothes.

“Sounds like devilry to me,” the butcher’s wife warned. The butcher spread his hands.

“Perhaps, but what choice is there? The rats are in our water; they’re eating our food and will be eating our children if we don’t get rid of them soon.”

The butcher’s wife didn’t have an answer to that. She cast a look at their young son, only recently walking, and sighed. 

“Be careful, then.”

 

The next night, as the townsfolk of Hamelin slept, a man walked through the streets piping a haunting tune. Behind him marched hundreds of rats, all perfectly in step. They streamed out of the houses, the granaries, out of every corner and shadow. The night was quiet but for the piper’s tune and the column of rats, and no one in Hamelin woke to see the spectacle.

 

When dawn broke, the town was empty of rats, and the people were filled with relief. They went about their usual days, smiling at one another and sighing in relief every time they realized their foodstores were free of vermin.

After the midday bell, the piper returned. As with before, he played a light tune that brought to mind childhood and sunlight. He stepped lightly through the town until he got to the well little Anna had found the rat in only two days previous.

“Good people,” he called, spreading his arms wide. “Are you satisfied your town is free from vermin?”

There was a series of murmurs as the townsfolk admitted to their neighbors they had indeed gone the day without seeing a single rat. The piper bowed.

“My service has been rendered,” he said. “And now the price must be paid. People of Hamelin, the agreed-upon price is the most valuable item from every household. I will wait here until sundown.” With that, he crossed his legs and sat.

For a time, the people of Hamelin went about their business. Free of the rats that had plagued them, their concerns about the stranger grew. It was unnatural, what he did with that pipe, the sort of power that allowed a man to control beasts. The piper took no notice of the suspicious, fearful looks cast his way. One by one, however, they stole back to their homes, to take inventory of their possessions. If they paid his price, then he would leave, and they need never see him again.

Items began to appear in front of the piper: a silver candlestick, a golden ring, a shawl hemmed with lace. Some families, fearful of incurring the stranger’s wrath, diligently went through their belongings to find the most valuable. Others, however, reluctant to give away anything of value, simply tossed an item of middling worth to the piper. By the time the sun began to set, there was a sizable pile in front of him, and the mayor stood by the well.

“That’s everyone,” he said. “All the families have given you something. You can go now.”

The piper unfolded and rose.

“Something, yes,” he replied, “but not what I asked for. This, I will accept. And this, and this.” So saying, the piper plucked several odd items out of the pile: a necklace, an ivory comb, a sachet of cinnamon. “The rest of these things are useless to me.”

“They are what you asked for, and they are given,” said the mayor. He scowled and shifted his weight. A number of other men came to stand at his shoulder. “That you do not accept the payment is on you. Either take it or leave.”

The stillness with which the piper now stood was unnatural.

“Very well then,” he said. “I shall leave. But I shall have my payment.”

“Go,” snarled another man.

The piper left, and the townspeople watched until they could no longer see the bright colors of his patchwork clothes.

 

The following night, as the people of Hamelin slept, a new melody could be heard. It was bright and enticing, full of promise. Hearing it, the children all leapt from their beds and ran into the streets. They followed the song, and the tall figure responsible for it, through the town and out. The older children carried the younger ones who couldn’t keep up, and those in between held hands as they skipped down the road.

The children of Hamelin, their parents’ treasures, followed the music out of town, never to be seen again.

 

* * *

The music faded away, and the children found themselves in a large stone room. The floor was covered in furs and quilts and cushions, and the lamps cast a warm golden glow over everything. In one corner sat a wooden box of toys, all brightly painted. A bright patchwork puppet sprawled across the top.

“Welcome!” A lady, all in white, stood in front of them. At the sound of her rich, soothing voice, the children, frightened at finding themselves in a strange location, found themselves calm. “I’m so glad you’re here, children, and safe.” She held out her hands for two of the little ones to take. “Come with me, I have milk and bread and honey for you.” 

A few of the older children held back as the lady in white led the rest to the far side of the room, where a table set with bowls and heavy loaves of bread stood. The lady seemed kind, and the food was tempting, but they were suspicious of this unfamiliar place. They looked at one another, and at the table, and the lady, and around the room. There were no doors they could see.

“Oh, children, do you not trust me?” the lady asked them. “How sensible of you. Come though, and watch over your younger brothers and sisters, to see they don’t come to harm.”

Armed with purpose, the older children followed the younger ones to the table, pressing close to their sides and keeping an eye out for threats.

After a while, satisfied the food wasn't poisoned, they ate as well, and forgot the lives they had lived before.

 

Their home under the lake was wonderful, and would have been perfect, if the children's mother hadn't been so sad.

“Of course I love you all, my darlings,” she would say, “but it has been so long since I have seen the sun.”

For while the children could play on the shores of the lake above their home, their mother was enchanted, and could not leave. They would tell her stories of what they saw above-- little things, like a deer, or the changing of the seasons, or how the wind felt-- and she would smile, and hug them, and her eyes would be so, so, sad.

Like all good children, they wanted to help their mother. And so they began to leave, to go out into the world to find a way to break their mother's enchantment.

 

There was Adam, who traveled south. Adam was a quiet boy, and an excellent listener. He worked here and there and listened for any news of magic or enchantment or ladies under a lake. Several times he thought he heard of someone who might help, an enchanter or magic-worker, but each time he was turned away. So he worked and listened, until one day the wrong person noticed him listening.

The man had something to hide, for he was meeting his brother's wife in secret, and the Church did not look kindly upon such dealings. He grabbed Adam by the scruff of the neck and shook him, demanding the boy forget all he knew or thought he might. Alas for the man, and for Adam, the mayor himself was listening, and, with a soft spot for children, bade the man unhand Adam and for Adam to tell all he knew.

And so the town's secrets came pouring out, for once he started, Adam found he could not stop. Their sins and petty jealousies and all the things they had done when they thought no one was watching or listening, he told them all. After a long while he finished, breathless, and stared in horror at the townsfolk, who had gathered as he spoke. They stared in horror back. After a moment, the horror shifted to anger, and Adam ran as fast as he could, out of the town and north, north to home.

 

There were Hans and Greta, the twins, who left their mother in search of a witch. Deep into the Black Forest they traveled, for they had heard that there was no magic so powerful as that found there. Hand in hand they wandered, lost a hundred times over, calling for someone who might help them.

They were first found by a woodcutter, who had recently lost his own children. He offered to let them stay with him and, when they refused, gave them some bread and water, and taught them how to leave stones behind them to form a path, so they would know where they had been.

Some time later, they were found by a witch, although perhaps it might be more accurate to say they found her, living as she did in a cottage made of sugar. Being children, they broke off pieces of the house to eat, and being a witch, she threatened to curse them for their disrespect. When they explained they had been looking for a witch, and for what reason, she told them she would lift their mother's enchantment on the condition they work for her for one turn of the moon.

It was in the sugar cottage that Han and Greta learned that the promises of witches cannot always be trusted, and when they finally escaped, they were no closer to their goal than they had been before they left.

 

And there was Conrad, who heard tell of a great god who could do anything, even raise the dead, and set off to find him. Surely this god could let Conrad's mother see the sun once more.

Conrad found others his age who believed in this god, this God, so ardently that he found himself believing too. He followed them as they traveled great distances, over mountains and through the cold. They often went hungry, and they often fell sick, but they knew they would prevail in the end.

They were going to convert the heathens, one boy told Conrad. Another said they were going to bring peace to troubled lands. It was a mission of peace, a mission of mercy, a mission of the hopes and dreams of children who believed. Amidst all that belief, Conrad felt he could find the power to help his mother. Their hard work would be rewarded in the end.

When the sea did not part, as so many had believed it would, Conrad's belief broke, along with his heart. He fell into a fever, and was lucky enough to be taken in by a kind-hearted tailor and his wife. When he recovered, his soul still tender and homesick, he tried for a time to repay his saviors by working for them. After several weeks, however, he disappeared, bound for the home he had left those many months ago.

 

Not all who left came back, and the others hoped it was because they had found a good life for themselves. The ones who did come back came back different, changed in ways both subtle and not by their experiences. Some of the children developed a taste for travel, and left and returned many times. Others could not stand to be too far away from their home under the lake, and were satisfied with one journey. Throughout it all, the woman in white lived under the lake, playing with the children she had and waiting for those who had gone.

Perhaps one child found a way to break their mother's enchantment, and she danced one more time under the sun. Perhaps she is still there under the lake. Perhaps the children left, one by one, until she was alone as she had been before they came. Perhaps she is a mother still.

One thing is known for sure: no one from Hamelin ever saw them again.

**Author's Note:**

> Quick notes: The woman in white is a Weisse Frau. Adam's story is based the Badalisc of northern Italy. Hans and Greta, naturally, are Hansel and Gretel. And Conrad was swept up in the Children's Crusade.


End file.
